


Object of Desire

by DorotheaT



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorotheaT/pseuds/DorotheaT
Summary: Asra muses on his relationship with Ilya while he's with him. He knows some things can't be replaced, but that isn't going to stop him from trying.





	Object of Desire

“Ilya.”

He stilled. He was perched on the edge of the bed, and was…being himself. Fidgety while being still. I don’t think he was aware of it, but every time he came over, he was wound up this way. No, not when he came over. When he first entered through the door, he was fine. He was…him. That irritating, overly done flirty _him_ was still there. But then, when the door shut, and then as the night moved on, he became…this.

Anxious and fidgety, and completely unsure of himself.

Sometimes I didn’t know who was the real Ilya. It was becoming exhausting trying to keep up with it. But he was an exhausting person. And I enjoyed it, somewhat. Not enough for it to be love. But not so little that I would end this.

I cared about him too much for that. Or so I told myself.

“Ilya,” I said again. I set down the book I was reading. He looked up, finally. I knew not to ask him what was wrong. He’d deny anything was wrong. And I knew anyway. He didn’t feel as if he deserved to be here. He wanted to be, but every time…he just could not take the initiative. He had to be invited. He had to be coaxed, and reminded, every time, that he was wanted. That it wasn’t a mistake that he was here.

I instead gave him a smile and motioned for him to join me. Even with the invitation, he was this…mess. To anyone else, it wouldn’t seem off. But I’d been around him enough to see the signs. He was wooden, rigid. But he climbed up on the bed. His shirt gaped, allowing me to see the muscles of his chest work. His hair dripped down into his eyes. Those auburn curls. He looked up between them for a moment before he moved to settle next to me.

“No,” I said. I reached forward and grabbed his collar. He stilled, but then followed as I pulled him forward and over me. I uncrossed my legs and let him settle between them. I waited as he relaxed against me, muscle by muscle. His pelvis rested against mine, and his legs stretched out. I shifted so that he could lay against me better. His face buried into the crook of my neck, and I felt him give a breath against my collarbone.

I raised a hand to caress his shoulders and up his neck, then buried my fingers in his hair. His weight was delicious on me. I felt him kiss my neck, just above the choker.

I knew he was besotted. He was so easily so. He found someone to fixate on, and lost himself in them. He would never acknowledge it, but trying to scrabble himself together under the weight of another’s more powerful self drove him and excited him. He enjoyed being lesser than, when given permission. It validated his self worth, or lack of it.

And I…well. I was alone, now. I’d never been alone in all my adult life. And…the grief was easier to handle when I was not alone. I did not have the patience to hold Ilya up all the time. But I tried to live without him there. It had not gone well.

I didn’t wan to admit that Ilya’s lack of self worth, and his reliance on me, restored my own self. It made me feel assured once more that I could exist in this world without _them_.

Ilya had relaxed against me with a bit of a tremble. Now he was blessedly still. I knew I could do whatever I wanted with him now, but I didn’t have energy for games. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I had the mind to take the time to knot the ropes upon him so intricately, so that by the time I was done he was so far gone and so ready, that all I had to do was touch him and he came. Other times I would draw it out, and tease him until he begged me.

I knew neither of us had it in us tonight.

“Kiss me, Ilya,” I said. He raised his head from the safe and warm spot beneath my chin. He looked upon my face for a moment before he drew me in for a kiss. He was good, a wonderful taste, every time. Despite his false bravado and penchant for trouble, his kiss was always so gentle and sweet. I wonder if he thought that I would somehow break under his touch. Sometimes I would have to order him to be more forceful. “Do you wish to be with me tonight, Ilya?”

I always asked. And sometimes it was hard for him to answer. He always said yes, and I knew his hesitation was not because he was convincing himself. I had asked him, rather plainly once, if that was what he was doing. He assured me he was not. He nodded to me, now, before kissing me again.

I took up his hand from where it rested at my waist, and guided it down between my legs so he could feel how I wanted him. He made a pleasant noise into my mouth, where his tongue was against my tongue. His kiss was soft and languid, and his hand mirrored the motions with a gentle but firm pet upon me, above my trousers.

I moaned between kisses. I’d taught him how to touch me, and he was good to remember. His self-doubt erased all the parts of him that others took at face value. He was a good doctor, even if he did his best to convince everyone else otherwise. He was a good friend, loyal, and resourceful when needed. He was definitely good for a laugh. His talent with music and drawing was wonderful. But this…this I appreciated most. I wonder if he knew he was a good lover.

He paid attention to me, and as if ordered, lavished me with care I had only ever felt under another’s hands. His lips abandoned mine to kiss down my throat and chest, and his hand took turns in appreciating the skin under my shirt and the swell of my thighs and backside where the warmth of our bodies was trapped against the bed. Those long fingers slipped under the trouser waistband and divested me of my clothing, and each time his eyes met mine, there was an adoration there that I only hoped to match in return.

He deserved someone who loved him. I knew I couldn’t Not the way he wanted, which was completely and totally.

If he caught onto that, he didn’t show it. He managed a smile. It wasn’t that wicked grin he gave when he thought it would create a reaction from me. It was that soft and needy little smile of his. His flush was beautiful upon his cheeks and chest. He really was stunning. I abandoned the comfort of my position to draw up and kiss him. Just because I was not in love with him did not mean I could not appreciate him.

“Use your mouth on me, Ilya?” I framed it as a question because I wanted him to choose tonight. He would, of course, do whatever I asked, and had done so before. Only a few times did he stop our play due to discomfort. Only once had I crossed a boundary neither of us had been aware of. I never did it again. But now he nodded.

I let myself touch him a bit more. I enjoyed his shoulders, and the long column of his neck. I raked my fingers through the hairs of his chest. My touched roiled him up, and he kissed me again, this time much more hungrily. He’d never been secretive about his attraction to me. He’d openly flirted, even in front of Nadia and the Count. His need moved past the barrier of concentration on curing the plague. Some said nothing could do that.

I was flattered, at least.

I pulled him over me, back into the pillows and duvet. He restarted his exploration of me, this time with fervor, as if just discovering his desire. It was no less sensual. His lips against my navel, sucking against the skin with his kiss. His tongue laved against the skin of the juncture between my legs and groin, and trailed down the inside of my thighs to be replaced with consuming, grasping kisses. I shut my eyes and tilted my head back.

He swallowed me down.

I may have cursed. The gesture was slow. His tongue stroked up the underside of me, licked upon the head, but he knew I did not like a tease. Not as much as he did. He spared me a few more tastes of exploration before returning to his task, his hands holding me still. Slowly in and down. Softly and savoringly up.

I opened my eyes and reached forward to stroke his hair from his face. He glanced up at me at the touch, but closed his eyes and resumed his ministrations. He loved doing this. He’d said so. _I like how you sound. I like that I can do this for you, darling._

Darling.

I was anything but darling, but I didn’t correct him.

A hand grasped me about my waist, his thumb rubbing against the muscles of my stomach. He moved with me, when I bucked, unable to control myself even against him. He was lost, now. All he knew now was me, in his mouth, and his desire to get me to experience pleasure, better than I had before, but of course, he couldn’t. It was all the same, every time. But it was good. One of the best. Every time.

He pulled up, now. The end of his tongue tasted the fluid accumulated at the tip of me. He lapped it up. He pumped me with his hand. The fingers of his other hand went into his mouth now. Then, with one of my legs pressed up, his fingers pressed inside me. I couldn’t help it. I cried out a bit, just an escape of my voice, something that couldn't be controlled.

He watched me ride his hand for a bit before returning me within his mouth. I writhed in earnest now, as he stroked me within and without. But soon, I’d had enough. I sat up and pushed him off, and pushed at him until he collapsed back on the bed so that I could straddle him. I spared only one moment to grab something lubricating, as he hurriedly undid the falls of his pants. He did not touch himself, but he was hard on the excitement of what he could do for me anyway. He waited as I used the lubricant on myself before I aligned myself and sank down upon him.

“Ah, Asra…” He moaned it as his hands held my waist to steady me and ground himself. He knew better than to move until I was ready. He inhaled through his teeth. He wanted to move so badly.

I leaned forward so that I rose up, nearly off him. I wasn’t going to do the work tonight. I balanced myself, my hands on his chest, and regarded him below me. I’d never get tired of seeing him this way, I lied to myself. “Move, Ilya.”

He complied, bracing his legs so that he could thrust his hips up into me. His pace was steady, but he wasn’t that gentle but firm need he was before. He pushed up into me to satisfy that chase that we were both in. My eyes were closed. I knew his were open.

I arched in is hands. I couldn’t help the moans I gave. I did not moan his name, but mine was frequent on his lips. He liked what he saw. I hoped that, whatever happened, he would remember this. I did this with him. I let him have me.

I opened my eyes at some point. He was worrying his lip, as he did when he was truly lost, but his eyes were still watching me. His breath ghosted that dark line of his upper lip in little pants. His fingers spasmed against my skin. He was so close.

Me first.

I pumped myself, and forced him to still so that I could ride him out. I couldn’t look at him when I came. I ducked my head and cried out a release, and he knew, then, that he could follow suit. This part, I did not like. How he drew me close and held me as he trust up inside me. He came inside me with a harsh cry that ended with my name.

I only grasped his hair softly and let him finish.

I sat back when his hands fell to the side, limp.

Now, he was beautiful. Spent and still, relaxed and without that crippling anxiety. Sweat slicked his body, picturesque and shining, and bits of his hair at his temples and above his ears. My spend smeared his belly.

“I like you like this, Ilya,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Do you want to stay the night?”

He nodded, drawing up an arm over his eyes.

I nodded as well, and got off of him. He moaned a bit, his other hand grasping at me as I got up. I found something to clean us up with, and left him there to cool off.

I dressed and retreated to the kitchen to grab a few things to eat. I plucked up some bread and fruit, and put on some water for tea. I selected the tea he liked. He was not a tea drinker, but somehow, I had convinced him to enjoy this sort. I sighed as I looked down at the tin of tea.

How did it get this far?

How did I turn from his research partner to…his partner in bed?

I knew what I was doing. I was substituting _them_ for him. And I would feel more sorry for it if they were not…

I ducked my head.

It was harder, after I’d had Ilya. I was reminded every time that I was doing what I was doing, and why I was doing it. I felt guilty, sure. But mostly, the grief returned to me. And I knew that no matter how many times I slept with Ilya, _they_ would never come back to me.

My head dipped down, and I put my hands through my hair. I felt tears drip.

Why…

What was I doing?

How come…

How come I couldn’t make it stop?

I raised my head, my fingers trailing through the tracks of my tears.

The kettle was whistling.

“Asra, the kettle.”

“Oh, yes,” I rubbed the tears away with the heel of my palm and moved the kettle from the burner. I set in the diffuser, and whispered a small spell to mask the signs of the tears. When I turned about, I know all Ilya saw was my smile.

He was leaning against the doorjamb, a small smile on his face. He was still glistening after sex, but he’d managed to button up his shirt and trousers, and smooth down his hair a bit. His smile turned a bit wicked.

He came forward and took up the plate of food as I grabbed the tea. “I thought I’d help you,” he said.

“Thank you, Ilya,” I said softly. I rose up on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You help me so much. In ways…you don’t even know.”

He blushed at that, but I was already leaving the room, with only a smile cast back at him over my shoulder.

He blinked, his eyes looking me over, and I saw the love he had in them.

Love that would never be returned.


End file.
